The Pirate Empress

by Deborah Cannon

  “We cannot fight this,” Fong said. “Her forces are too great in number. And they are not of this world. How can we fight magic?”

  “Her armies do not fight with magic,” Quan replied. They fight with physical blows, weapons and shields. They have arms and legs just like us, no matter how mutated, and they ride mounts that are propelled by muscles just like ours and also bleed.”

  “Some of them are ghosts and hopping corpses. They are the dead and the undead. An arrow or a sword cannot kill them. And, have you not seen the strange raiment of some of her other soldiers? Those horsemen are not of our time.”

  “I have seen them, and I have fought against them,” Quan said. “They fight with bows, and under terror they will flee. As for the dead and the undead, we may not be able to kill them but we can try our utmost to hold them back.”

  “Dahlia’s soldiers number in the hundreds of thousands,” Zhu said. “By my reckoning they are at least half a million strong.”

  “Then it’s the end,” Fong said. “We may as well surrender. We have not the means to defeat such a force.”

  “Surrender is not an option,” Quan said. “When Master Yun returns with Peng and Wu, we will have the makings of the Crosshairs.”

  “You don’t even know if that will work,” Fong objected. “And you don’t know if Master Yun will be successful in rescuing Wu. Let me tell you what I know of the Fox Queen. She is old, older than time. My people are long-lived, and in all the generations of the White Tiger, fables of the fox faerie have endured. She lives to rule. She and her kith have ruled successive kingdoms, as long as there have been kingdoms to rule. She cannot die, not unless her tails are sliced off. And they must be sliced off in one fell swoop, all nine at once.”

  Quan turned from surveying the terrifying view below them. “If that is all it takes, then I will seek her out and chop off her tails myself.”

  “If it were that easy, don’t you think it would have been done by now?” Fong asked.

  Zhu nodded. “The opportunity will not arise readily. Believe me, I know. And you should know, too, Quan. Both the Emperor and I were bewitched by Jasmine for years. Even now, Zheng Min is under her spell, as is the Mongol Altan. And look,” he said, pointing to the circle of armed soldiers blemishing the plain, she is protected by her own device.”

  They headed back down the hill dejected. He Zhu knew they must fight or die, and he knew it was likely they would die whether they fought or not. He was through questioning how it was that he had already died once and returned to life, but that did not stop him from questioning whether it was possible for him to die again. He stopped at the foot of the mound and almost gagged. Quan lurched beside him and Fong’s face went as pale as the white bands in his hair. On a tall pike, the severed head of Zheng Min perched like a rotten melon.

  %%%

  It was dawn before Master Yun and Li completed their reconnaissance by air. Too long had they spent away from the war council.

  “No, Master Yun. Not to the palace,” Li said. “Look there, isn’t that the White Tiger’s warship? Why is it heading down the Grand Canal, back out to sea?” She yelled, although from this height no one could possibly hear her. “Fong! You’re going the wrong way!”

  Master Yun sent Fucanlong down toward the manmade waterway. They must stop the flight of the White Tiger at all costs. If he was fleeing, then it was certain that he had taken the Black Tortoise, too. Without Fong and Lao the Crosshairs was moot.

  As they swooped to the deck of the warship, a huge shape suddenly lunged at them. The thing had wings like the dragon, but its form was totally undragonlike. Quilan, Master Yun thought, the dragon-horse. On its scaly back perched the white and black shape of the beautiful Jasmine.

  Fucanlong was unable to breathe fire. He had no weapon other than teeth and claws. Burdened with four passengers, these weapons were useless. He might tip the riders off his back to their deaths. Master Yun willed a tail-spinning wind gust to send Jasmine and her mount careening. But her power had grown one-hundredfold since their last encounter. She laughed in a high tinkling voice that sounded like silver and righted her mount, her black hair streaming back from her face, her dark eyes amused. “Peng, my love,” she called to her daughter. “It’s time to come home. Mother misses you.”

  Peng sat nestled in Master Yun’s lap and now she twisted to face him. “I don’t wish to go,” she whispered, hugging him hard.

  “Then you shall not go.” He raised his head. “Leave, Fox Demon. Do not come near us again. Next time we meet, it will be in the battlefield.”

  The legs of the dragon-horse reared, its hooves punching the cold air. Its wings flapped and Jasmine gripped its muscled haunches with satin-white thighs. The snowy fabric of her gown flowed like a wisp of cloud. “No one tells me what to do.”

  The Quilin lunged at the blue dragon, spewing flame. Fucanlong parried the fire with his front claws. His passengers went screaming, tumbling and scrabbling for handholds. And Peng sailed out of Master Yun’s grip into the arms of her mother.

  “After her!” Master Yun ordered.

  The blue dragon wheeled in the direction of the Quilin and the fox faeries. He jabbed at the horselike rump, causing the dragon-horse to buck in outrage, spraying loose scales, hissing smoke. Foxes could not fly and it was Master Yun’s hope that they could shake the fox faeries off their steed and catch the foxling while her mother plunged to her doom.

  Again, Master Yun urged Fucanlong to goad the dragon-horse. It bucked and this time its passengers went flying. Master Yun sent the blue dragon in a mad, flipping maneuver to meet the foxling in her free-fall, but with that action, Wu was jarred from Li’s grip and went soaring off the back of the dragon into empty space.

  Li did not react. She seemed stunned as though she had just woken from a dream. Master Yun wasted no time. Peng or Wu? He had to catch both. Jasmine was already out of sight in a bank of thick cloud, her dragon-horse sinking after her. Wu was the nearest and he lunged for the boy, scooping him out of the air, then thrusting him into Li’s lap. “Snap out of it, Li. Hold onto the boy!” Peng had by now dropped into the bank of cloud and Master Yun shot down, hands gripping Fucanlong by the throat, steering him downward.

  They were inside the bank of cloud and they were blind. All was a thick, choking fog. They had lost her. Either she had plunged to her death or Jasmine had survived, retrieved her flying mount and somehow saved Peng. He hoped it was the latter. But if it was the latter, they had no hope of retrieving the foxling. And so they might as well all be dead. Without Peng, they could not complete the Crosshairs.

  Then he remembered what had triggered this mad spiral in midair in the first place—the White Tiger’s retreat. Had Fong truly given up? Because if he had, what hope was left? Master Yun signalled for the blue dragon to surface from the cloud. He needed to think and he wanted no distraction. “Are you all right back there?” he asked Li over his shoulder. “How is Wu?” Li was silent and he craned his neck to see mother and son.

  “I’m fine, Great grandfather,” Wu said. “But I think there is something wrong with Ma-ma.”

  Master Yun sought Li’s eyes but a deep frown distorted her features. “Your mother is fine. Don’t worry about her. I will explain to you later.”

  “But what about Peng?” Wu wailed. “What has happened to my cousin?”

  Master Yun reached around to cup the boy’s hand. “I’m afraid we have lost her,” he said gently. “But you mustn’t cry. You must be strong. Peng was strong. She was born under the sign of the Vermilion bird, the Empress’s symbol. She was a brave and precious girl, and a foxling to boot. Be proud of your cousin and always love her. Never forget her, my boy. Your memory of her will give you strength. She loved you very much.”

  “Master Yun,” Wu said. “Is it true that each of us is marked at birth? That Fox Queen, the one with the pale hair and yellow eyes, she told me that the chosen ones, those you planned to use to hold the Crosshairs of the Four Winds, were marked at
birth.”

  So, Dahlia knew about his counter device to her circle. Well, he was pretty certain she did, but he had hoped, oh how he had hoped he was wrong. “Yes,” he said. “The four of you were marked at birth. But we read your particular marking wrongly.”

  “I am not the Black Tortoise,” Wu stated. “I am the Azure Dragon.”

  “That, you are.”

  “How do you know? What if my grandfather, the Emperor, had lived? What then?”

  “You would still be the Azure Dragon. It is good we discovered this before we attempted the device.”

  “And Peng?”

  Yes, that was the problem. Peng was the Vermilion Bird. There was no replacement for her. But more importantly, there was no replacement for the great granddaughter he had lost.

  “Why did you let her die, Master Yun?” Wu asked.

  A tear came to Master Yun’s eye, but it was quickly wiped dry by the wind. “I had no choice.”

  “You could have chosen to go after her first.”

  Master Yun caught himself before he could say, but she was a girl. She was not just a girl. She was Peng! “Fucanlong,” he shouted. “Take us below. Find Chi Quan’s encampment. We must put our campaign into action.”

  As the blue dragon arched his wings to make the descent, a beautiful golden pheasant’s head plunged out of the cloud and on its peacock-blue back was the foxling.

  “Peng,” Wu shouted. “You’re not dead! How did you call Fenghuang to rescue you?”

  Peng giggled upon her gold and azure mount. “I didn’t call her, Wu. She just came. I was falling and falling and screaming and yowling and all of a sudden she was there. And I on her back.”

  “Good girl,” Master Yun shouted. “Now, tell your regal steed to follow us to the brigade general’s camp.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  The Black Tortoise

  When the lad was brought in, Brigade General Chi Quan studied him with great pride. Each knew without having to be formally introduced that they were father and son. Wu bowed. “I am afraid, Ba-ba.” He spoke the endearment so naturally that Quan felt emotion tug at his heart. “Ma-ma is not herself.”

  What was done was done. Master Yun had explained to Quan Li’s bargain with the water god. But Quan had every hope that it could be undone. Surely it was possible for Li to learn to love her son again, even though she did not remember who he was. For the moment there were more pressing matters to attend to. He did not have the luxury of coddling his son or extending their reunion. The war was at hand and he had sent Li to retrieve the White Tiger and the Black Tortoise. Failing their return, there was only one chance to destroy the Fox Queen. Even now Master Yun was pacing the ground where they stood upon the plateau of First Emperor’s tomb watching the final maneuvers to Dahlia’s Circle.

  The Fox Queen was buried in the center of it. And when the troops moved out to fight, the Inner Circle would protect her. Each contingent faced in the direction of a major Chinese garrison or city, and Quan would have to flank each regiment with one of his own.

  His troops assembled into battle formation, each legion forming a solid block from North to South and East to West. The troops were small, but he had his secret army of Yeren, which he intended to keep invisible until the last moment. Hopefully, before then, Li would return with Fong and Lao, and lead her pirates and those of Mo Kuan-fu up the Yellow River to their aid. Quan looked up from studying his maps and joined Master Yun at the lip of the hilltop.

  A troop of ghostly warriors streamed up the back of the mound outfitted for war. Could it be First Emperor Qin’s Night Guards Army? Had they defected from the foxes? Master Yun strode forward to greet the ghost who approached first. Pale grey, tinged with red and yellow, nebulous and filmy, the ten-foot-tall warrior held his head high, expression grim, clad for battle. Master Yun said with relief, “Yongfang, thank the gods, it is you.”

  Yongfang gestured down the hill at the legion of ghost warriors. “I know we are small in number compared to the host led by First Emperor, but we are a contingent five thousand strong, and we are sworn to fight for your freedom and our own.”

  “Thank you,” Quan said. “Take up your post on the northern flank. Zi Shicheng’s rebels cover the eastern flank. Now I must swallow my pride and seek out the leaders of the Mongol hordes and that of the Manchus.”

  “Too late,” Master Yun said. “The Circle marches.”

  Quan watched in horror as a horn blew, and the carefully configured outer circle of Dahlia’s troops began to radiate outward to meet the sloppily aligned Ming contingents.

  “Form a line,” he shouted. “To arms!”

  Each of his troops squared into a solid block, the first line of bowmen already hit by the force of the Mongol C-bows. Quan hoisted his crossbow, mounted his horse and raced into the fray, rallying his men into an onslaught of bitter arrows. His arrow bolts were soon depleted, and now he fought only with blade. His eye sought the leader of the Mongol horsemen, Altan.

  With a force greater than he knew he had, he struck manflesh and horseflesh, and did not wince at the screams. Injured horses whinnied their terror to heaven. Even in the heat of battle as bodies fell and the battle moved back, hawks and crows fed, pecking the entrails out of still living bodies, heedless of the affairs of men, their guts smeared over the trampled grasses and the twisted trees. The generals urged them on. The battlefield was dark and confused, with horses and men swarming. The cold sun shone, while the flattened weeds ran purple with blood. The armies’ banners mingled until only the silver-tipped nine-tail symbol of the Fox Queen was visible. The drums banged and the massacre continued, before Quan was unhorsed and stood face to face with Altan.

  The warlord whipped out a blade and kissed his own with a silvery clang. Quan shouted, “Can’t you see what the foxes are doing? They are using your forces first. They are laughing behind that circle of demons while we wipe each other out!”

  Altan whipped away his sword from beneath Quan’s and parried his next blow.

  “Look, man!” Quan shouted. “The Tao Tie, the Kui, and Yaoquai do not fight. They stand in formation and they watch!” The Xiongnu, Qin’s ancient legion, the hopping corpses, all of the various demon armies held back as the Manchus, the Mongols and the Ming army slaughtered each other in blind fury. “Where is Liao Dong? We must join forces. We must turn the wave of attack upon the demon foxes. Call your men to pull back; retreat behind First Emperor’s mound. We must regroup, and then attack.”

  A fierce horseman came charging toward them, bow taught. His gleaming forehead and single pigtail told Quan this was the man he sought. Quan held his shield up to block the arrow, and was very nearly knocked off his feet. At this close range, the power of the projectile sent Quan’s shield into the grass. The Manchu leader was undeterred; he nocked another arrow and aimed for Quan’s eyes. Quan raised his sword, but a sword could not easily deflect an arrow. The bowstring twanged, Quan leaped aside, and the arrow struck true, but not where he thought it had gone. It missed him, blocked by a Mongol shield.

  “Liao Dong,” Altan said. “Look behind you. See the armies that are engaged in battle and those that are not. Only men fight. The demons sit and laugh.” He turned back to Quan as an arrow flew past his head. “You are right, Brigade General. The Fox Queen has duped us. She waits while we kill each other off.”

  “Do you agree, Liao Dong of the Manchus?” Quan demanded. “Even your ally, the great Khan of the Mongols cannot deny what is true. You fight on the wrong side. You must battle for the freedom of men, not the emancipation of demonkind. What do you say, horselord? For whom do you fight?”

  Liao Dong turned his shaven head to the battle fray. Bodies laid strewn everywhere. They were decimating their own armies. Only the ghost warriors of Yongfang remained without loss.

  “Fall back!” Liao Dong ordered to his troops.

  “Behind the burial mound!” Altan thundered.

  %%%

  “Mo Kuan-fu,” Li called from her quarterdeck
to his. “You must take your fleet up the Yellow River to the plains of Xian. The Emperor needs your help.”

  “The Emperor is dead,” the pirate chief said. “The news is rife that we have no ruler.”

  “All is lost if you do not act—your freedom and the freedom of the open sea. You never cared for His Majesty before. Why do you care whether or not he lives now?”

  “Why do you, Lotus Lily? While the Emperor was alive, he caused you nothing but grief.”

  “Because a new ruler is ready to take the throne.”

  “You mean your son? A child? A mere boy?”

  Li frowned. Lao was no sovereign. He was the Black Tortoise and she must retrieve him to take part in Master Yun’s plan. True, she had helped the warlock rescue the young emperor. It was her duty to do so, but the man was making no sense. “You’re talking gibberish. Now do as I say before it’s too late. I must find the White Tiger and my son and return them to His Young Majesty’s side.”

  She ordered her crew to make sail. Fong had a huge head start on her, but she would catch him up because her junk was lighter and swifter than his warship.

  %%%

  Dahlia’s demon troops reformed the Circle. New creatures came to take the place of the barbarian fighters. Quan counted eight legions of Yaoquai, seven legions of Tao Tie, the hideous gargoyles mounted upon the equally frightening Nian, the lion beasts. Six legions of Kui, the macabre man-beasts of Scorched Mountain, whose arms grew front-to-back, rode upon the shoulders of the evil, seven-headed one-eyed birds called Jian. Five legions comprised of Emperor Qin’s ghostly Night Guards Army; four legions of hopping corpses, green and white with mould; three legions of beasts he could not name, but which Master Yun called, White Bone Spirits and Ba She, some sort of snake creatures that could swallow elephants whole. If that weren’t scary enough, there were two legions of Xiongnu, the bane of First Emperor, who fought in league with their ancient enemy, now a ghost army, both allied to the unearthly Fox Queen because she promised immortality. And finally, one giant, who represented a legion all his own, who was so massive in girth and towering in height, they could only thank the heavens he was alone of his kind. The last army was Dahlia herself, and the magic of her nine tails.